


Younger and more Beautiful

by Zazou



Series: Never A Doe [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A.U., Angst, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Not actually incest, Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 17:24:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3945349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zazou/pseuds/Zazou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Baratheon tries to rekindle her relationship with her exiled mother but runs into an unexpected hurdle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Younger and more Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> So I briefly mention Renly’s rebellion here and it will probably be covered in a later fic. Renly’s claim is really weak, since he’s behind Sansa, her future children, Stannis and Shireen. I’m basically thinking of it like the Duke Monmouth’s rebellion. Monmouth thought the people would support him over King Charles II’s legitimate heir James II because he was a protestant while James was a catholic. Renly assumes that everyone will support his claim because Sansa and Shireen are women and Stannis is well...Stannis. So he makes the risky move of starting a rebellion even though he only has the Stormlands and the Reach assuming that the other kingdoms will rally behind him simply because he’s a man and has more charisma than a frozen turd/ Stannis. Just like Momouth he’s wrong although in Renly’s case there is also the Melissandra factor.

Sansa rushed down the corridor and burst into her grandfather’s study the tolling of the city bells in her ears. Lord Tywin sat behind his mahogany desk piled high with scrolls working methodically. She was taken aback by his demeanor. He was acting as if nothing had happened as if the world hadn’t changed forever. The only sounds were the scratching of his eagle feather quill against the dry parchment and the tolling of the bells throughout the city. 

“Your Grace, I’m sorry for your loss.” He intoned without looking up from his paperwork. 

“When will mother return?” 

The great lion froze. Sansa had never spoken of her mother’s fate inside the castle’s walls but her father’s death left her emboldened. 

As soon as Lord Tywin had been made aware of her arrangement with Littlefinger he had removed Cersie and Jaime from his clutches and had placed them with his own people. Sansa had no idea where her mother was but she liked to imagine her in a luxurious mance in Essos her golden mane tousled by the sea breeze as she sipped plum wine from a golden goblet finally free from her abusive husband. 

“When the time is right.” 

What? No. Sansa had always assumed that the King’s death was what they were waiting for. 

“But father is dead. I can pardon her. There’s no reason for her to stay away even a day longer.” 

What was the point of becoming queen if she couldn’t pardon her own mother? 

Tywin finally looked up at Sansa his shrewd emerald eyes making her breath catch in her throat. With one glance he reminded her that she maybe the queen and a woman wed but to him, she would always be a child. 

“In order for the royal pardon to be taken seriously we need to wait.” 

Her high spirits sank. As much as it pained Sansa to admit it her grandsire had a point. Despite Lord Tywin’s tireless efforts the Lannisters were still hated and looked upon with scorn. Bards from Dorne to the Wall still sung bawdy and disrespectful songs about her mother and Uncle Jaime. Plus Sansa planned on making her grandfather Hand of the Queen and that would definitely be controversial. If her second act as Queen was to pardon her mother everyone would see her as little more than a corrupt Lannister puppet. 

“We must be patient. Let the dust settle, wait for the people to forget the scandal. In the mean time, we must undo all the damage she left behind.” 

Sansa nodded dutifully. Both of them had been working to undo said damage for almost a year now. Her young cousin Willem was being fostered at the Eyrie and had apparently made fast friends with the young Lord Robin who had been rather starved for companionship. Meanwhile, Lancel was now Brynden the Black Fish’s squire and Martyn was squiring for Lord Edmure at Riverrrun. Plus during Sansa’s pilgrimage to the Starry Sept, she had single-handedly engineered a betrothal between her cousin Janei and Willas the heir to Highgarden thus ensuring that the next generation of Tyrells would have a Lannister matriarch.

Tywin looked back down and resumed writing. Sansa sighed and rested a hand over her distended stomach. She was only five months pregnant but she was so huge that the maester was sure she was carrying twins. Twins. The very idea still terrified her. It was yet another reason that she needed her mother with her. She approached her new hand the heels of her new boots making a metallic click with each step. 

“May I send her a letter?” 

Her words came out more beseeching than she had indented, pleading even. Lord Tywin paused his quill hovered halfway between his inkwell and the parchment. Sansa held her breath. The quill dribbled black ink onto his mahogany desk.

“We shall see.” 

A smile of relief broke out over Sansa’s face. At least that was something, a ray of hope to sustain her. 

“For now we have more important matters at hand like crushing your traitorous uncle.” 

Ah yes, the black cloud looming over her brand new reign. Her beloved Uncle Renly had married Sansa’s childhood best friend and proclaimed himself the True King of the Seven Kingdoms in direct opposition to her. Surprisingly, Brienne was taking his betrayal almost as hard as Sansa herself. Apparently, she had had a childhood crush on him and had always believed him to be a gallant and honorable man. So far Renly had the Storm lords and the Reach behind him as well as several prominent members of the Faith. When Sansa won those septons and a representative of each of the rebelling houses would all be sent to the Wall! Robb’s brother Jon was always complaining that they didn’t have enough men anyway. 

“I want to ride out with my troops to meet him.” Sansa proclaimed sticking her chin out straightening her spine and thrusting out her pregnant belly. 

Tywin clenched his jaw and his mouth turning into that familiar thin grim line. He flexed his hand causing his golden signet ring to catch the light from a nearby candle. She idly wondered if he’d done that on purpose. 

“Your bravery and desire to be involved is admirable Your Grace.” Tywin replied using his polite yet condescending tone where he carefully enunciated each and every syllable. It always one made her slightly nauseous and her stomach was already delicate due to her pregnancy. 

“But your safety is of the utmost importance.” 

“Oh I don’t plan on going out into the battlefield or endangering myself with foolish heroics.” 

When Sansa had shared her plan with her husband Robb he had assumed that she was motived by pride and a sense of honor. That was part of it. She needed to prove that Renly was wrong, that a Queen could be just as effective as a King. How was she meant to do that if she was hiding behind castle walls while men died for her birthright? But Sansa knew that this argument wouldn’t work on Tywin so she would use a different tactic.

“I just want everyone to see King Renly, their gallant champion for what he truly is, a man attacking his young bereaved and pregnant niece.” 

Tywin’s lip twitched. Sansa knew he was reveling at the thought of knocking Renly off his high horse. How do you kill a story? By giving everyone an even grander story to tell. First, her father made her witness the execution of her brothers and sister and now this. Would the dastardly Baratheon brothers ever tire of wronging her, the sweet people’s princess? The smallfolk would eat it up and her grandfather knew it. 

“We’ll see but for now we must prepare for your coronation.” 

Master Forley had already made her shoes for the coronation. They were fearsome things modeled after the battle gear of the Unsullied and covered in metal spikes. But even though it was the role she was most comfortable with Sansa knew that she couldn’t always play the sweet people’s princess. She was to be the queen now, a ruler at war. 

“I’ve already had my gown made.” 

Sansa had designed it herself and had ordered the seamstresses to begin working as soon as her father had fallen ill. It was at bit morbid but practical.

Tywin looked up from his desk and graced her with one of his rare smiles. To her, they were more precious than jewels. 

“Of course you have.”

\-----

When Tywin first came to visit Sansa in her birthing bed he immediately gravitated towards the bassinet that held her youngest twin, his heir. She held her eldest babe, Duncan, close and smoothed out his black hair wondering if he felt slighted that this strange visitor was paying him no attention. Her son let out a mew reach out and made a tight fist around his mother’s pinky finger. Tywin stared down into the bassinet studying her newborn prince. 

“His name is Daemon,” Sansa said finally breaking the strangely tense silence. 

“I named him after one of his ancestors.” 

The words “after a Lannister” hung in the air unspoken. Sansa fiddled with her messy braid and shifted around using the mountains of pillows to help her sit up straight. Even though they were family it felt odd for her grandfather to see her like this, in bed, flushed and sweaty, wearing only a simple linen shift, with no jewelry expecting the dragon glass ring Robb had given her for their anniversary. Sansa and her lord grandfather were both very formal people who believed in the importance of adhering to court etiquette and maintaining appearances. 

The only time he’d ever seen her like this before was after the execution of her brothers and sister when he’d brought her out of her stupor. Sansa didn’t want to associate this moment with that memory. She had been weak then, a disappointment, a doe. This should be a time for celebration. Sansa had just brought two healthy beautiful heirs into the world securing two lineages. So why wasn’t Tywin saying anything? Sansa held her breath waiting for something, some sign. 

Tywin reached down and picked up his great-grandson. He held her baby up as if trying to examine him by the light of the nearby window. Sansa knew that he would never hurt her son but for some reason, she felt a strong urge to protect Daemon from Tywin’s scrutiny. He should be sleeping restfully by her side not being sized up like some beast on an auction block. Thankfully, Daemon didn’t seem as sensitive to Tywin as his mother. He simply stared back at him with his inquisitive Baratheon blue eyes. 

“He might not be blessed with a golden head but at least red is a Lannister color.”

Approval! Tension seeped from her weary body. 

“Indeed the Gods decided to bless me with one son in my image and another in my husband’s.” 

There was no need to mention that his eyes were too dark to be Tully blue. 

“I've decided you may write those letters we talked about.” 

It took a moment for Sansa to realize what he was referring to but as soon as she did her heart soared with elation. Finally! The Gods had rewarded her patience and answered her prayers. Lord Tywin held out a hand before she could speak. 

“However all your letters must be given directly to me, any early drafts must be completely...” 

He continued listing out his stipulations but Sansa couldn’t pay attention. There was so much she needed to say to her! So much they had to catch up on! They could finally mourn her siblings together. Grief would bring them together and they could set about healing each other’s wounds. This was the first step towards their reunion! Sansa just knew it was imminent! 

The other Baratheons were no longer a threat. Renly had mysteriously died the night before he was to battle the royal forces. There were no other rival claimants in the wings, dutiful Stannis would never go against the letter of the law, Shireen looked on Sansa as an older sister and Edric Storm was Brienne Evenstar’s squire and on the road to joining the Queen’s Guard.

“Thank you!” She whispered her voice trembling as she fought back happy tears. 

Tywin cleared his throat clearly uncomfortable with her naked display of emotion. Sansa knew she should have contained herself for his sake but she was just so emotional lately.

“Well, I’ll leave you to get some rest.” 

He lay her second son down on the bed next to Sansa and excused himself. 

“You’re going to meet your grandmother.” Sansa cooed tickling Duncan on the red birthmark he’d inherited from his long dead Estermont great-grandmother. He gurgled happily and kicked his flat feet in the air. She reached down and stroked Daemon’s soft plump cheek. 

“Grandma loves you both so much!” 

For the first time in a long time Sansa felt at peace. 

\--- 

“I certain Tywin isn’t giving mother my letters.” 

Tyrion sat on a mossy old tree stump struggling to open his wineskin. Sansa pulled her plum colored wool cloak tighter around herself and glared at him. Was he even paying attention? Although to be fair she had ranted to him about this many times. She paced back and forth crushing the dead leafs and twigs with the heels of her violet leather boots. 

“I haven’t gotten any letters back! Not a single reply!” 

If it had been up to Sansa she would send for her mother right now. Things were finally stable! She had secured her line of succession with her twins and there would surely be more children to follow. Some said that you don’t conceive while you were still nursing but she and Robb were putting that to the test. Even if the myth was right they were having fun trying. 

As Queen Sansa had made great strides in gaining the people’s good will. She passed a law that allowed any and all of her subjects to hunt and forage in the King's wood. As far as she was considered it was a win-win. Her subjects had a new way to make money and feed themselves and the crown didn’t have to waste its time and energy prosecuting victimless crimes. Besides the royal family barely used it Robb was too busy for long hunting trips. She had also ordered the construction of a public bathhouse modeled after the Water Gardens, where all the cities citizens could bath, swim and play. If everything went as planned the construction would be finished by the end of the year. 

As for the House Lannister, they were actively rebuilding. Janei had married Willas. Many Tyrells were still upset that Loras had been forced to take the black to pay for their treason, but Janei was now pregnant with their first child and that was sure to improve relations. Edmure Tully was courting Joy Lannister, formerly known as Joy Hill. Sansa planned to betroth Tyrion and Jeyne’s baby Evanda to Robin Arryn. 

“Why would he do this? Giving me false hope is just cruel.” She scowled turning up the fur collar of her cloak up to stave off the crisp autumn chill. 

It was time for her mother to return! She had missed Sansa’s flowering, her wedding, coronation, and the birth of her twins. Enough was enough! She needed to meet her grandsons.

Tyrion ignored her question his focus completely locked on his wineskin. What was the point of these secret meetings in the Godswood if he spent the whole time drinking? They could drink anywhere but this was one of the few places Queen Sansa could allow herself to be honest. Her imp uncle finally won his battle against the cork stopper succeeded and took a hearty swig.

“I think I’m going to confront him.” Sansa declared her opal and amethysts bracelets clanked together as she gesticulated wildly. 

Tyrion wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand making Sansa wrinkled her nose. Her uncle really needed to stop associating with his sell swords and whores they were rubbing off on him. 

“That is a terrible idea.” 

“Why? He is my hand and he’s lying to me, his queen.” 

Anger bubbled up inside her growing with each word. Yes, she should have confronted her Hand long ago. He needed to see that she was not just his granddaughter but also his queen. 

“Mayhaps he isn’t lying, mayhaps your mother just hasn’t written you back.” 

She shot him a withering look. Why was he wasting her time with this blithering nonsense?

“You’re drunk.” 

“So?” 

“What you’re saying is madness.” 

Tyrion sighed bitterly and rubbed his oversized forehead. 

“I had hoped that I would never have to share this with you but it look like it’s time.” 

Gods above more secrets! 

“When your mother was a young girl she met a witch and…” 

“Did she tell you this?” 

From Sansa’s understanding her mother had always avoided Tyrion at all costs so it seemed unlikely that he would have been privy to any of her childhood adventures. 

“No, but your Uncle Jaime did the last time I spoke to him.” 

“When was that?” 

“Your Grace, if you keep interrupting me it will be winter before I finish.” 

“I’m sorry, please continue.” 

“It’s quite alright. Now, when your mother was a young girl she met a witch and asked her to tell her of her future. The witch told her that she would be queen until one day another younger and more beautiful would come to cast her down and take all that she held dear.” 

Well, that was chilling but inaccurate. Men had been her mother’s downfall, not another woman. It certainly explained some of her mother’s paranoia. But what did this have to do with her letters?

Tyrion leaned forward the dappled forest light catching his mismatched eyes and making them luminous. 

“She believes that the witch’s prophecy has been fulfilled.” His tone was somber and he spoke slowly as if he were talking to a child. 

What? Tyrion looked up at her pleadingly as if begging for her to understand something. 

Oh… was he trying to imply? No. That didn’t make any sense. If anything Sansa had replaced her father not her mother. Obviously, she was younger but definitely not more beautiful and….. Sansa realized that she had reflectively started shaking her head. Denying accusations that had yet to be spoken. 

“Cersei blames your actions for the deaths of the rest of her children.” Tyrion said with a sigh finally spelling it out for her. 

Then it clicked. That which she held dear. Just like that Sansa was standing on the steps of the sept again her heart racing, head pounding and her lunch threatening to make a reappearance. Your Fault! Your Fault! She braced herself against a nearby tree as the world began to spin around her.

“What?” Sansa croaked out her mouth suddenly as dry as the red waste. 

“But father was the one…I was just trying to help just trying to…” She cried her voice filled with desperation.

Sansa felt as though she were trying to prove her innocence to an invisible jury, pleading an imaginary judge for mercy. 

“I know it’s not fair” Tyrion interjected speaking softly as though she were a spooked horse. “but…” 

“Fair! Don’t talk to me about fair!” 

“Greif isn’t logical!” Tyrion countered dropping the gentle and nurturing effect. “After all, she still blames me for our mother dying in childbirth!” 

It wasn’t her fault. Not entirely at least. Sansa knew that even if she couldn’t believe it. Ser. Illyn had swung the sword, her father had given the order. But she still felt responsible for the deaths of her brothers and sister, she still carried that weight with her every day. Sansa had hoped that her mother’s love and acceptance would help her finally put this ordeal to bed assuage the guilt and shame that still haunted her.

But no…Sansa's own mother hated her, was probably cursing her name at this very moment. Gods it hurt, cutting deep into her soul in a way that only betrayal from a loved one can. But how could she? How could a mother hate her own child? Sansa was sure that she could never bring herself to hate either of her sons. She was dimly aware that fat tears were falling down her chin hot against her chilled skin.

“She was the one who doomed them!” 

Sansa had never allowed herself to utter those words out loud before. Her loyalty wouldn’t allow it but now…what was the point? Why be loyal to someone who thought the worse of you? What was the point? Loyalty was meant to be reciprocal.

“Her and Uncle Jaime both! He was the one who confessed the whole thing and painted grandfather into a corner! He was the one of just gave up, gave in! They were killed to pay for her crimes, not mine! I didn’t give the order! I didn’t know! How was I meant to know? How could she expect me to know?” 

Sansa wasn’t sure whom she was asking. Herself? Uncle Tyrion? The Father? The Crone? The Old Gods her husband prayed to? In the end, it didn’t matter because none had an answer for her. 

There was silence all the birds and woodland animals had been scared away by Sansa’s yelling. Oh, Gods she had been yelling. What if someone had heard her? She was too upset and worn out to be careful right now. She could do damage control later. Besides she was the Queen she should be able to yell in her own Godswood. Was that really too much to ask? 

Tyrion cautiously held out his wineskin to her, a rather paltry peace offering. She took the wine skin and chugged the sickly sweet liquid. The alcohol burnt her throat but warmed her stomach.

A cold wind whipped through the Godswood making the leaves rustle and chilling Sansa to the bone. You only got one mother in this life and Sansa had lost hers.


End file.
